


take me home (forever and ever)

by ohfaiths



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22834339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfaiths/pseuds/ohfaiths
Summary: Souls are an amazing thing. No one knows their form, or how they work. They just exist, wandering from one person to another, as if seeking shelter. And sometimes, they find shelter in the same person they used to belong in the past.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 20
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, besidemethewholedamntime for beta reading ♥

Some say that there is no such thing as a past life. The future is fixed, happens once and won’t repeat ever again. The history can’t be replicated, and the consequences of our actions can be seen only in the future, or present. Whatever we did in the past affects our lives in the most peculiar ways, and it can be either bad or good moments – and nothing in between. 

Some say it’s karma, that we will have to pay for the actions we did days, weeks, months, years, centuries before now. Everything is written above, and our ancestors simply remind us about the choices we made. But it is not necessarily true.

Some say that everything that happened in the past can be easily relived in the future. It’s a simple theory, except it’s not. They say people remember what and who they were in the past, what they did and why. And once again, they say that the past haunts us, like the ghosts of our ancestors who watch our every step, following us behind our backs.

What do they want? What are they trying to tell us?

So far, no one has ever answered the questions. Neither the scientists nor the church is aware of what is going on in the big dark universe, and what kind of secrets the cosmos keeps. As if it knows answers.

As if it’s real.

But they say, reincarnation exists and we should read the signs that we receive. Dig deeper into what know, try to find the solutions and answers even if it costs the lives of humanity. Because, eventually, the souls will find their way back to existence. They will fight for their future, reborn into something beautiful, or dark, whatever they want.

Souls are an amazing thing. No one knows their form, or how they work. They just exist, wandering from one person to another, as if seeking shelter. And sometimes, they find shelter in the same person they used to belong in the past.

  


**1645, England.**

  


A forest is a dark place where people tend not to go. They are not terrified of wolves or bears that were noticed wandering around and hunting down their prey, but the women who went there and eventually came back.

And no one ever comes back from the dark forest.

The villagers start to spread rumours and tip their neighbours off not to trust some of the women from their village. It’s a disgusting thing to do. Why make rush decisions about someone without actually getting to know them?

But the worst thing of it all, the upcoming witch hunt that unsettles the farmers and people who had never been aware that the witches could be among them. A supernatural being, a monster from a children’s bedtime story that people never believed in.

And even if they exist, how would they fight them? How would they make them go away and not incur the anger of these nasty creatures?

The women in the village start to suspect each other, even their closest friends and family members. The mother of the mother; the woman who quickly recovers from the birth is considered a witch; a woman with dark long hair is considered a witch; a girl who spends all of her time reading a book is a witch.

But really, the witches do not show who they are, especially not those who mean no harm. For the past few weeks, the village has grown to be empty and cold. Unwelcoming.

The only good time to go outside is early morning, when the sun hasn’t risen yet, and when people are still sleeping in their houses, waiting for yet another day of constant pressure that can be felt in the air.

The witch hunt doesn’t scare Jemma – the young woman in her mid-twenties, living in a small cottage and growing herbs in her garden. She knows people think she is also a witch and oh if they only knew.

She’s been doing a pretty decent job at hiding her identity for the past few centuries, yet she is not afraid of people turning her in because of their fears. Jemma doesn’t blame them, either. She may as well welcome death like an old friend.

She goes swimming every morning to the faraway lake, where no one will find her. It is cold and foggy, and while for some it can be a sign of something wicked coming, Jemma finds herself at peace. But she is not like everyone else.

She is friends with the moon and nature and the animals in the forest that scare the villagers. 

In their minds, she is just a lonely girl that lost her parents in a fire, living a peaceful life among all the women and men, helping children and giving them milk when they ask her nicely.

In reality, she is 213 years old witch who gained the powers from her mother, strong enough to raise hell and start an apocalypse. The only enemy of hers is the raging fire that she hates. The orange-red flames that remind her of the death of her loved ones, the only thing that left her in hysterics for days.

The cold water helps her to focus on what is happening now. She is the same old Jemma Simmons, incredibly young yet dangerously powerful, and honestly, no one should know about this for their own sake. Jemma can easily make them forget about her, erase their memory and move on to the new place. She could easily live in a forest among the wolves and bears that terrify people. These animals are graceful and grateful, the only friends Jemma has here.

It takes ten minutes to come back to reality, and Jemma stands on the shore of the lake, brushing the long, chocolate locks she inherited from her mother. The older woman had been the smartest witch of the village Jemma and her family lived in, full of happy times and useful lessons.

Don’t trust people who are too friendly to you; they eat your heart out and murder you in the night when you are the least powerful.

It is the night when Jemma gathers all of her powers and strength, the perfect time of the day when no one can bother her. The morning and the night sound like a perfect pair.

Jemma knows she is being watched without even turning around. She proceeds to braid her hair slowly, enjoying the process and the eyes on her. She’s not sure how they found her, for the villagers are not brave enough to come here at such an early hour. Whoever is spying on her didn’t plan to; it’s as if they were on their way to the village, minding their own business until they saw a beautiful woman.

She doesn’t feel ashamed, standing here naked while the rising sun dries her wet skin so she could wear the dress she left on the shore and not get it wet. Jemma knows that her behaviour may raise many questions that she’ll be asked by the man who watches her, yet she doesn’t care. She owns nothing to these people, and she doesn’t answer them.

Jemma Simmons may be an occult creature, but she is not a God.

It’s when she turns around, Jemma meets the blue gaze of her morning intruder, and tilts her head to the left, unable to look away. He is young – and handsome, Jemma thinks – but he is not local. She knows everyone in her village and everything about them, but the man is a foreigner. And he saw too much.

They don’t say anything to each other, and Jemma smirks mischievously. As if she plays the wicked game with him; he dared to intrude the witch’s personal space and he will pay for it, one way or another. But Jemma is not a murderer; she uses blood for her rituals, but there is no such thing as a murder of innocent people.

Does it make her innocent?

When she comes back to the village, the stage in the centre of the place is filled with people. Jemma has no interest in listening to whatever their Council has to say, yet she finds a spot behind the crowd, just to make it look as though she is as normal as everyone else here. Except she feels her heart skipping a beat when she meets the same blue eyes that watched her on the lake, and she knows that maybe her time has come.

It is not like she is afraid of being questioned, or her cottage being inspected, but she’d rather not to be intruded upon by the people who claim they want peace. Jemma’s not sure if peace has meaning anymore; not when her life has been a never-ending war.

Yet, she stays until the end of the gathering, and all this time she feels the eyes of the young man studying her. He looks away as soon as Jemma looks up at him; now it seems they are playing another game.

He is introduced as the witch hunter named Leopold Fitz, and Jemma is lost in her thoughts, thinking how his name sounds like a royal one. He doesn’t look like royalty, with the rough stubble and scars on his hands. She wonders how many witches he has killed and if she will die by his hand. It is announced that he and other witch hunters will be patrolling in the village and she feels nothing but irritation.

She hopes the men are smart enough not to get in touch with her – the only young woman here who doesn’t have parents or a husband – and leave her alone, let her work with her herbs and entertain children that are not terrified of her.

But of course, nothing goes as planned.

It is the same evening and Jemma is working on her journal of herbs when someone knocks on her door. She almost expects it to be her neighbours, maybe Ailee who’s expecting her third child or Gideon who has a knee injury that needs to be healed, but when she opens the door and the familiar blue oceans glimmer in the shadow of the torch, Jemma almost feels relieved.

“I must inspect your cottage,” he says, with a Scottish accent and a straight face. “That’s an order.”

Jemma doesn’t say anything and lets the man in, ready to attack him if he finds something that is not meant to be found. It takes one move of the hand to put the candlelight out in the furthest room of the house, and thankfully Leopold Fitz doesn’t notice. Jemma feels in a playful mood, following him around like a shadow and he doesn’t notice her until he turns around and gasps.

“A nice place you’ve got here, miss,” he breathes out, trying to cover his hitched breath behind a cough. “A wee bit dusty, perhaps.”

“Don’t have time to clean the house,” Jemma smirks and folds her arms in front of her. “Maybe you’d like some tea? You must be tired, riding all the way from the city without having a chance to rest. I’d have shared some carrots for the horses as well, but unfortunately, I don’t have any left.”

Jemma doesn’t need his answer, immediately putting on the water to boil, and inviting him to sit down behind the wooden table. Fitz raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, following her movements as if he’s hypnotized.

Maybe he is.

There are several books on herbology and the journal of any possible illnesses that Jemma has yet to complete. It’s a dangerous move, she knows, especially with the witch hunter in her house, but she is not afraid of him. She doesn’t care if he reads the books, because she has a feeling he wouldn’t. He’s not brave enough to do that, even though it may be his job.

She already knows Leopold Fitz is enamoured by her. Anyone would be, considering the magnetic field around her. Something that Jemma’s grateful for, especially when it comes to reading other people’s aura. And this witch hunter that shares his travel adventures and makes her laugh, for the first time in her life, has nothing against the woman who made him tea and allowed him to stay for the night by the fire. They talk about the situation in the city, the way they take their teas and their morning rituals. Favourite books and animals.

But then one night turns into three, and three turns into five, and Jemma knows that maybe she is being a reckless foolish girl who completely forgot that if you play with fire, you get burned.

She doesn’t care about the people asking her about the witch hunter that keeps visiting her, and she allows their thoughts to wander. Let them think what they like. She hadn’t felt so alive in two centuries, and if the holy inquisition or Matthew Hopkins comes for her himself – she’s ready to accept her fate and confess her sins.

For sinning has never looked so gorgeous and so forbidden.

They come up with the perfect pattern, and most of the nights Jemma spends in her candlelit bedroom, basking in the attention she receives, staring into the same ocean blue eyes that look at her as though she is the centre of the universe. 

It’s nonsense, quite obviously, for a witch having an affair with the witch hunter never ends well. She doesn’t know if there were other witches before her, but she doesn’t want to ask Fitz if he has other women in the villages they’ve been to before. It seems awfully awkward, even for them. Jemma can’t help but admire him when he’s asleep, though she can’t help but think that this is the perfect time to dispose of him while he’s least expecting it. For the first time in her life, Jemma feels that she might have found her soulmate; someone who may know that she is an occult creature, but ignoring the fact altogether.

And even if it’s just the sex, she won’t be the one to end this. She enjoys every minute spent together, wandering hands and hitched breaths and the sweet sounds he makes when she does something very right and she feels quite proud of herself. 

_You took my breath away_ , Fitz once admits, his hands finding Jemma’s and he twines their fingers, while his lips wander down her chest, and then her stomach, close to where Jemma wants him the most. She’s weak for him; something that may easily kill her later, when her time comes.

It’s 13 days later when the actual time finally comes. She’s exposed in the dirtiest moment, wandering around the village, right in the centre of it, near the podium where the three hanged women have already reached their end.

Jemma doesn’t fight when they tie her hands behind her back roughly and lead her to the podium. She almost wants to laugh when the local villagers try to splash holy water on her and get angry when Jemma doesn’t react to it. They are angry, screaming and threatening her, spitting venom and saying that she will go to hell for all of her sins. The hell that is promised doesn’t scare her; Jemma’s life has been one for many centuries, and she may as well finally find solitude in the afterlife.

The fire cracking brings her back from her thoughts, and Jemma can almost hear a voice in her head, painfully familiar. The same voice that has told her she’s magnificent on several occasions. But now, he screams her name in terror, demanding her to look at him, to fight for the future, for them.

Jemma meets his eyes in the raging crowd, there’s panic in them that she’s not familiar with. Fitz was the one who wasn’t afraid of her, after all. She’s powerful and dangerous, but the nights spent together, and even finding out the truth... none of it pushed him away from her. Instead, they got closer and closer until there was no space left, and perhaps this is what Jemma will miss the most.

Fitz knows he can’t do anything except watch the witch he fell in love with executed right in front of his eyes. He tries to do something, tries to get through the cheering crowd, but it’s too late. He fails to save her five seconds before they murder the woman he loves, and he stands there, feeling as though his soul is being sucked from him.

He wonders if this is what death feels like.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys.  
> I apologise for not updating this fic on Friday because I suddenly got very sick and it's been a rough time for me. I am still kind of sick, but hopefully, I recover by the end of the week. Luckily it's not covid, so no worries :D I hope you guys are safe! I'm literally scared because I'm going to Turkey at the end of May and I hope it won't get infected! Anyway, I hope you like the second chapter of this relatively short story. This chapter is with the twist ;)

**Birmingham, 1919.**

It’s terrifying how one person can have so much power at once, yet it’s not something easy to achieve. The people with power work hard, no rest for the wicked, they say, and wicked they are. Power makes them hungry, filthy, and they want more and more. It makes people go mad, turns them into animals that lose control. Being powerful doesn’t mean you are happy; there is danger everywhere, people hunting down their enemies and disposing of them as if they are nothing.

You have to be careful in a world like this because nothing is safe anymore.

Leopold Fitz knows that his lifestyle will lead him to his death at some point. He is playing Russian roulette, teasing destiny itself and playing tricks on death. He’s been there before, nearly ascending to the other world, but every time he survived. He doesn’t know if he is immortal, or it’s just pure luck that still has him living on this earth.

For a man of his age, he’s got everything he needs; money, women and guns to help him to survive in this century. It’s definitely easier because he thinks he deserves this. His jerk of a father be damned, Leopold Fitz is a self-made man who knows his value and basks in the glory.

It’s the family business, and he is the infamous heir. He keeps everyone suspended in terror, laughing in their faces and living his best life. With money comes power, and he knows that powerful people get the best of life.

He’s been warned on several occasions that someday, the red right hand comes for him and there won’t be salvation. He appreciates the care and the warnings, especially when they come from his older sister, but there is nothing that can kill him. He is the master of his destiny, the whole world at his fingertips. They can come for him and threaten to take his life, and he will let them. But he will always come out as a winner. Nothing will change that.

These are dark times and yet again, Fitz finds himself sitting in his favourite bar, watching people and eavesdropping to their stories and gossiping. They say that there is a politician whose daughter was lurking around the city, something that people from the upper classes tend not to do. They say she’s been noticed in this very pub, reading some book and making notes, watching people carefully to make sure they don’t notice.

Fitz greets one of his mates with a smile that immediately vanishes when they exit the pub and an envelope falls on his table, a familiar ritual of theirs. He doesn’t open it, not yet, curious about what else people will say, interested in the girl.

He and politicians do not get on well, especially now. Fitz has heard that people like him are being hunted down, murdered in the dark of an alley for all the things they have done. It is a tug-of-war, young gangster against politicians, and in such dark times, it is impossible to say who’s your friend and who’s your enemy. Fitz can’t trust anyone now, his fears and doubts flooding his brain, yet he doesn’t show it. It’s a weakness, and he is not allowed to have those. Otherwise, it could kill him.

Fitz stays late, as he always does in this pub. There is no one else except him and the bartender, an old man Fitz has known for years now. He is a great man who once was just like Fitz, and the younger man wonders if this is his future. Maybe he will live long enough to retire, or maybe start a family, but falling in love seems impossible. No one will love a monster, and it’s not like something that would upset Leopold Fitz.

He has his money and power – something that no one can take from him. Not even his father.

It’s half-past eleven when the door of the pub swings open and the woman enters. Fitz immediately stiffens, the envelope burns his pocket for some reason. He recognizes her before realizing this from the gossip he heard earlier today. But who would have thought that he would be lucky enough to see the daughter of the politician tonight?

She sits three tables away from him, fishing out from her bag a leather journal and a small notebook. She looks focused and takes a deep breath before leaning forward and writing something down. The bartender approaches her carefully, and Fitz watches the scene unfold with curiosity, eager to know what happens next. The old man asks the woman if she wants something to drink and she kindly declines his offer with a soft smile. 

Fitz feels his gut clench. She looks so out of his league, the woman who doesn’t belong to this pub and this century. There is something magical about her, something that makes Fitz unable to look away, enchanted by her very existence.

He signals the bartender to repeat his order, double whiskey and looks around, trying not to stare at the girl for too long thus making her uncomfortable. Even though he seems a piece of corrupted shit, Fitz respects women and what they stand for, thinking of his mother who would be proud of him right now. While Leopold is his father’s son, there is something soft in him, too, by the woman who raised him and taught him everything she knew. Perhaps her kindness had killed her, and Fitz’s heart still aches when he thinks of his mother.

The old man approaches Fitz with his order and Leopold gives him a generous tip before looking around and meeting the girl’s eyes.

He finds himself unable to take a breath, staring in the warm honey hues. She looks familiar yet not at once, and Fitz tries to remember a time that maybe he saw her somewhere – a past life, maybe? When he wasn’t a bad guy? He shamelessly checks her out – her full red lips and the soft blush on her cheeks, chocolate waves of hair falling down her shoulders like a waterfall. She looks like a model, and Fitz can’t believe she has to be the politician’s daughter. The world is too cruel for him.

She looks away with a shy smile and Fitz raises his eyebrows, immediately interested. God knows how many secrets this woman keeps, but for the first time in his life, he wants to take his time and decode the mystery himself. There is no rush in learning about the most beautiful woman Leopold Fitz has ever seen.

She looks busy, so Fitz doesn’t dare to interrupt her, instead sneaking glances each and every minute at her. He notices her looking at him when she thinks he doesn’t see her. This is a funny game they are playing, and a dangerous one. It’s almost 1 am when she finally closes her journal and collects her things in her bag. Fitz almost trips when the mystery woman without a name rushes to the exit and doesn’t look at him, waving goodbye to the bartender. He follows her.

It’s dark and dangerous in the city at night, but she doesn’t look frightened at all. Fitz can’t but admire this woman, and taking a deep breath, he calls her.

He doesn’t know her name, but a simple ‘ _ma’am_ ’ works. She turns around, a familiar soft smile appears on her lips.

“Can I help you, sir?”

She’s English. Her accent is lovely.

“Aren’t you afraid of walking these streets so late at night?” Fitz wants to sound friendly, something he’s not familiar with but by saying that he sounds more like a creep. “It is a dangerous place.”

“I can handle myself very well,” she chuckles and looks around. “And from what I see, there is no one around here at such a late hour except for you and I. Should I be afraid of you?”

 _Oh, she’s good_ , Fitz thinks and steps closer. The woman knows who he is, he’s sure. But she doesn’t flinch, her honey hues glittering in the dim light of the lamps.

“I am not as scary as I may look,” he chuckles and the woman laughs quietly. “Anyway, let me take you to your flat, at least. Who knows what can happen if you’ll be walking alone.”

“I don’t need a knight in shining armour.” She rolls her eyes and turns her back on him, leaving Fitz behind. Then, she stops and looks over her shoulder. “But the company would be nice.”

Fitz can’t help but find himself falling for the woman, and their meetings (some of them are not planned at all) become more frequent. He learns that her name is Jemma and that she is an aspiring journalist. They don’t talk about her father, though Fitz can see the similarities between them. It’s terrifying how the two rival worlds collide, though he ignores all the voices in his head that sound surprisingly like his father.

She comes to this pub three times a week, and he greets her with a knowing smile. They don’t talk much, with Jemma constantly busy writing something and Fitz keeping her company. The silence is comfortable, something he gets used to easily. Being with Jemma, and looking at her, brings a good feeling within him. Fitz is not known to be a good guy or someone who would sacrifice himself to save others, but there is something inside him that’s different now, brought there by Jemma Simmons and her presence.

Their friendship turns into something more than that, and it’s four weeks after their first meeting when Fitz can finally reach out and cup her face, lean forward and taste the cider she usually orders in this pub on her lips, get lost in the feeling and forget about the harsh world. They are living in a century of gangsters, blood and guns, and if there is one thing they shouldn’t be worrying worry about, it’s love.

Fitz’s sister, Leanne, is not amused by her brother’s sudden romance and warns him that this won’t end well. They have a business to keep going and money to earn. Now is not the time for an affair with a woman he met in his favourite pub and waste all of his money on gifts. Leopold hates being told what to do, and tells his sister everything that he thinks about it; reminds her that Jemma is none of her business and suggest her to leave them alone. He doesn’t want to betray his bloodline or grow soft, but meeting Jemma Simmons was something akin to learning how to breathe, and in such a cruel world, even the worst of people want to be happy.

He will defend Jemma and her dignity, though she hardly needs a knight in shining armour. For all this time that Fitz has known her, Jemma has proved herself to be a smart and strong woman who knows her value and has a voice. Perhaps, this is the thing that he loves the most in her. He has seen her best, and her worst, but none of these moments have made him change his mind.

Some say that Leopold Fitz – the most fearsome man in this town – is a fool, falling for a woman who is not meant to be his anyway; that he is chasing a ghost and he is forgetting why he is here in the first place.

He ignores them all. They are nothing but jealous. Fitz sees the way his friends and enemies look at him when Jemma is around. She is not his property not by any means, and she respects his boundaries and is aware of what he is doing. One day, Fitz introduces Jemma to his siblings and leaves no room for discussion. Jemma Simmons is now a part of the family and he proves his loyalty and love to her by proposing one month later when they are alone in his apartment, dining with caviar and lobster, a treat for the rich ones.

It’s two months later after their wedding ceremony when Fitz starts noticing changes in his now-wife, and he can’t help but wonder what happened to her.

Jemma seems to be more silent now, an introvert and sociopath combined, her warm hazel eyes are not so warm anymore. Fitz can see the way she looks at him – as if he is her prey. He turns it into something more sexual because, despite all the changes he sees in Jemma, the sex is great. Her hands are still cold and her kisses are hot, but none of it seems right anymore. It’s like the Jemma he knew has been replaced by a woman he doesn’t know.

One day, he sits them down and asks her on what had happened and if there is something wrong he had done. He is not perfect, he is aware of that, and such life is clearly new to Jemma. Leopold expects her saying that she is leaving, that there is someone else involved, but her answer is as simple as it can be.

“Love, there is nothing wrong with us,” she moves closer and takes his hand, twining their fingers. “It’s just… I know what you are doing, and there are eyes on me. I just make sure my father and his partners won’t find out information on our whereabouts.”

“You never told me you’re being watched,” Fitz lowers his voice to a whisper, even though they are safe and sound in the four walls of their apartment. “If they are…”

“Oh no, they are not threatening me!” Jemma laughs and leans forward to place a soft kiss on her husband’s forehead. “You know I can handle myself, love. And I don’t think they would dare do something to me, considering the fact that the most fearful man in Birmingham is also known as my husband.”

Fitz feels ten pounds later after that, happy that they had this talk finally and things got clearer. He could never think of Jemma as being the unfaithful wife because she is truly magnificent. Perhaps, it’s all in his head; his fears and worries curling up in a huge ball of anxiety and wouldn’t let him leave.

But behind the walls of their apartment, there is a war going on and there are choices to be made. It’s three weeks after the members of his family suddenly begin either to disappear or, which is worse, die.

First, the youngest of the Fitzes is found with a rope around his neck in a basement of the pub the family uses as storage for half of the money. No one has heard anything, nor saw the culprit. Fitz’s older sister suggests that the purge has begun and they must flee from the town, to save themselves and everything that’s left in their name. Fitz kindly ignores her and arranges the funeral for their younger brother, where no one says anything. 

He has Jemma by his side thankfully, and she holds his hand the whole time, even on their way home. She doesn’t say anything to him, and Fitz is not sure if he is in a mood for accepting condolences. They sit in silence in their living room, with Jemma writing something in her journal and Fitz planning their next step.

All of his plans are destroyed exactly two weeks later when they find his sister’s husband with a hole in his forehead. Then, a few days after, they bury him next to Leopold’s younger brother and again, no one says anything. His sister tells him she’s going to flee from the country with the money she has, and Fitz lets her. The members of his gang are killed one by one, with perfect timing and in various styles. Fitz immediately blames the politicians, but he also suspects an old friend of his who always wanted to be just like Fitz. He hunts him down in the dark alley one night and slits his throat open, the blood covering his hands. The revenge is sweet and satisfying, and by the time he comes home, Jemma greets him with a kiss and a promise of dinner. She studies his outfit and bloodied hands and furrows her eyebrows.

“Get cleaned, love. And by the way, there is an envelope waiting for you on the table.”

Tonight, Jemma looks particularly gorgeous in a silk dark red robe that makes Fitz forget the English language itself. This is the night of celebration, he thinks, because now that he disposed of the man who started the purge of the most powerful family in the town, they can finally rest.

Fitz doesn’t bother to wear something fancy, a simple shirt with trousers will do as he sits at the table, and he notices the envelope Jemma was talking about. He is not in the mood for opening it yet, he thinks. Especially when Jemma pours him whiskey that tastes too sweet and a glass of champagne to herself.

“Why are you not opening it?” She glares at the envelope, her curiosity making Fitz slightly uncomfortable. “There must be something important.”

“What can be more important than this?” Leopold waves his hand at their lavishly arranged table and then looks up at Jemma, chuckling. “I just want to spend some time with my gorgeous wife and talk about your day.”

“Oh, it was boring,” she sips on her champagne and folds her hands underneath her chin, looking at her husband. “Writing reviews, making dinner, going to the library. You, on the other hand, had a great time, apparently.”

“Oh, I did,” Fitz laughs and shakes his head, the memory of Grant Ward – his oldest enemy – choking on his blood is too satisfying. “Someone who thought he could dispose of me is finally dead, isn’t it good news? Now we can sleep peacefully knowing that no one can sabotage me. Anyway, if you insist I should open this damn envelope, I will.”

Jemma beams and stands up to stand behind her husband, watching carefully. With each sip of whiskey he takes, the closer he is to find out the truth.

The truth that will kill him.

He starts to choke while opening the envelope, his hands shaking and vision blurry. Fitz ignores this, thinking that perhaps he had fallen ill or the whiskey wasn’t fresh. When his vision clears, he stares at the photograph of the woman. It’s a familiar ritual of theirs because sometimes his gang receives kill envelopes that mean they have to dispose of the man or woman who stands on their way.

His blood runs cold when he recognizes the woman on the photograph, but it’s too late. The same woman is standing behind his back, her fingers sinking into his shoulders and makes him sit straight.

“Poor naïve Fitz,” Jemma coos, leaning closer to his ear. “It is in a cruel world we live in, darling. Did you really think we would last? After everything you’ve done to sabotage my father’s career?”

“Jemma…” Fitz tries to fight and grab Jemma by her wrist, but she is faster. He falls on the floor like a bag of potatoes, crawling to the small table, where he keeps revolver underneath it.

“It was far too easy,” Jemma’s voice is loud in his ears, something he didn’t hear before. This is not the Jemma she knows. Not the woman he fell in love with. She is dangerous and powerful. “It’s been a pleasure to love and marry you, but good things must end.”

“You… you can’t do this,” Fitz laughs or at least tries to, though when he feels that the gun isn’t there, his blood runs cold. He tries to at least sit on the floor and look up at the woman who once was called his wife, noticing the gun in her hand. Damn, she is good. And he underestimated her. “After everything that happened between us… you can’t.”

“Don’t you understand it yet? You will not be the king in this town anymore, darling. And all of the money in this town won’t save you. This game is over for you and me, and there is nothing you can do to justify yourself and your actions. You had almost eight months to kill me, but it's funny how the tables turn, isn't it? My father sends you his best regards.”

Before Fitz can say anything, there is a dull shot and he falls limp on the floor, blood covering the perfectly white carpet. It’s almost tragic, the way he died, by the hands of the woman he thought was his soulmate.

But maybe he will have his revenge in their next lifetime, wherever they may meet.


	3. Chapter 3

**London, 1944.**

When they meet each other ten years before the war starts they think it’s destiny. They recognise each other, except they don’t. There is something familiar about the way one looks and speaks, and there is some sense of gratefulness for their passion for science to bring them again once again.

They knew that something was coming. Sixth sense would not lie to people who had been through enough tragedies and know how hard it is to live in a modern world where nothing seems right anymore. They were one of the first people who noticed the change of behaviour of their government and neighbours, listening to the old radio in their small flat and exchanged meaningful looks before they shut it down and instead spent their time together.

As much as they could.

They met at the bakery when they were both 17 years old, where Jemma used to make bread and Fitz was a technician. They got along immediately, as if someone sparked a fly between them and the two of them moved seamlessly towards each other. The immediate friendship and partnership that turned into something more.

Fitz wasn’t sure why Jemma chose him, of all people. He noticed how other boys looked at her. They were stronger and more handsome than he, yet Jemma ignored other boys’ attention and spent her free time with him.

They spoke of many things, and that was, perhaps, one of the best things of their union. Their friendship was easy and effortless, as if they were just meant to be friends. He tried to be the man Jemma could rely on, yet not overstepping boundaries that they had set. They took it easy and that was enough.

It took three years for Jemma to realise that Fitz had become something more than just a friend to her. He was kind and attentive, caring about her in the way she never imagined it to be. When Fitz’s mother died, Jemma tried to be as close as possible to her best friend, yet she gave him enough time and space to think about everything. To think about life. It was a few months later when Jemma’s parents died in strange circumstances and nothing made sense. They went to Edinburgh and never came back, leaving Jemma alone in this cruel world. 

Fitz knew what it was like to lose your family. But they had each other, and it wasn’t too long until he suggested they move in and live together.

His place wasn’t as big as Jemma’s, for he lived with his mother and they didn’t need much space for the two of them. One small guest room, one bedroom and a tiny kitchen but it felt cosy. Jemma felt at peace by just cooking at the stove and looking out of the window, waiting for Fitz to come back home with two loaves of bread, milk and eggs.

She greeted him with a smile and a hug that slowly turned into kisses.

It all happened by accident, really.

It was a regular Thursday evening, with them watching the old TV, with Jemma’s head resting on Fitz’s shoulder and a heavy blanket over their legs. He asked her if she wanted some tea because it was getting colder, and Jemma looked up from his shoulder and noticed how close their faces were to each other. He was the one to make the first step, which was brave of him. He tasted like the wood, with a hint of freshly baked bread. Jemma knew that whatever boundaries were between them, whatever friendship they had shared all these years – it was gone. But it didn’t disappear, more like turned into something more beautiful, because Jemma finally felt at peace. The world outside didn’t matter, and she allowed herself to be in love, for the first time.

He asked her to marry him three weeks later, saying that they don't have to wait for years just because of the traditions. They couldn’t waste any more time, especially when the world outside was slowly becoming harsher and darker as if something was about to happen.

And it did.

They had enough money to pay for the smith to make them the rings and had a private wedding with just the two of them. They made it just in time before the inevitable terror came into their life and destroyed everything that they had.

The War.

They fled to a small village with other people who hoped to survive. There were young women and children, men who were not suitable to serve the country and go to war. These people needed men to protect them, too, and Fitz was one of them. 

They had to learn how to hold a gun in their hands, a scary weapon that could destroy people’s lives. The women had to go through the course of first aid and rescue, learning how to take care of wounded soldiers. Simple precautions that Jemma hoped none of them would have to use. 

Women and men had to take care of their children who were born in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Of all people, they didn’t deserve this kind of life. Jemma wondered if this was going to be their life now; bombs and bullets around them, the sound of the war ringing in her ears. There were good times, too. When children were laughing and playing football outside when the music made them dance and forget about everything that was happening around them.

None of them can sleep at night though, because this is the time where the chaos begins. They have shifts to patrol the village, and the most unsettling thing for Jemma is when it is Fitz’s turn. She’s anxious and scared, keeping her eyes open all night, afraid as hell that she won’t see him come back. There are children sleeping in their camp, the ones Jemma taught how to knit earlier. Their mothers can’t sleep either. Their husbands are either at war or patrolling the village, assault rifles in their hands and bravery in their bones.

Fitz is a brave man. He’s grown stronger over the past few months and Jemma can’t help but admire him. He looks older with the stubble and scars on his arms, wiser and ready to do anything to protect his people.

In their rare moments of being together, Jemma tells him that she’s scared. It’s hard for her to express emotions, for she keeps everything in her little box inside her mind, the way her father taught her. It’s easier that way, it doesn’t distract you from your duties and you don’t pay attention to it. Except when she actually says it, something shifts inside her. Maybe she had to let her emotions out earlier, let Fitz know that she is absolutely terrified about what may happen next.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Fitz whispers and leans to place a kiss on her forehead. It makes her warm. “I’m scared too.”

“At least you are brave at going out at nights,” Jemma chuckles tearfully and refuses to look him in the eyes. “And here I am, hiding with other women and unable to join you.”

“That doesn’t make you a coward.” He shakes his head and takes his wife’s hand, twining their fingers. “You are brave in being the nurse, taking care of people’s wounds and tending to them. That’s pretty badass if you ask me. I could never even look at someone’s open wound.”

“You would faint,” Jemma finally laughs and looks up to meet Fitz’s gaze. “I just want to be able to help in case… in case something worse happens.”

“It won’t happen,” Fitz tries to reassure her, but his heart clenches. He knows something Jemma doesn’t and he will not burden her with the news. Not yet. “In sickness and health, remember?”

_ I’ll never leave you _ , he wants to say, except it’s not necessarily the truth. He’d been unlucky to eavesdrop on the conversation between two soldiers and the news was not so great.

He had hoped that there would be a chance for them to live a peaceful life. Maybe flee to Scotland and find their peace there, have children. Live a long life and die on the same day.

But the War has taken it from them and he does not want to give Jemma false promises.

It’s on a foggy Sunday day when Jemma’s world crashes down and it’s not because of the war.

There are soldiers in their village, the ones who were sent to recruit men to go to the battlefield. Women are crying and children do not understand what’s going on, why their fathers and brothers are leaving. The soldiers don’t tell when they come back, not to make it any worse. It’s hard for everyone, and it is hard to stay strong when you know that there is a chance that not everyone comes back from the war.

Jemma bites her lip to stop it from trembling, watching her husband talking to one of the soldiers and signing the papers in their hands. She wants to stop him from doing this, to yell at him for being selfish for leaving her here. But then she thinks that it’s her who’s being selfish, and she has to do something. She can’t stand watching Fitz leave like this, not when there is nothing she can do about it.

She buries her head in his chest as soon as he joins her, holding him tight. They’ve been through a lot, they can handle the war. They can handle the departure and once they win, there is going to be a new life. Jemma doesn’t say anything until Fitz pulls away and cups her face, staring right into her teary hazel hues.

“I need you to be stronger than ever, Jemma,” he whispers with a shaky voice. He’s scared. “Whatever happens next, I know that you can do it.”

“I can’t,” she sobs and lowers her head. “Fitz, I can’t do it without you, I’m-“

“You are incredibly brave, Jemma Anne Fitz. And there is nothing that can break you. I will write to you, yes?”

“You better do that,” Jemma tries to smile. “Or… or I will find you and we will talk about it.”

“Sounds like a threat.” Fitz cracks a small smile and leans down to capture Jemma’s lips in a soft kiss. “I love you.”

Jemma whispers the words of affirmation back, her fingers trace his features perhaps for the last time. She wants to remember him like this, imprint his face in her memory, the soft touch of his fingertips on her face. She watches him leave with a heavy heart, though her brain is already flooded with the idea that she’s been thinking about for some time.

Maybe she doesn’t have to sit here and wait for her husband to come from the war.

Maybe she will be useful, too.

Three days later, Jemma Anne Fitz volunteers among other women who followed their husbands to work as a nurse. This is something she excels at, she knows she’s good. They all will be working on the home front, helping their men to fight and inspire them. 

Volunteering is considered noble, and Jemma feels slightly better when the soldiers take them to the hospital where they’ll be tending to the wounded. She feels closer to her brave husband who volunteered to go to war.

Jemma writes to Fitz about her decision and shares the details of what she is doing. She thinks he will be mad at her for risking her life, but she has nothing to lose. They don’t have children or a place to stay. The man she loves is out there fighting Nazis and if there is something she can do to help him, it’s being by his side, in a manner of speaking.

The letter she receives in return is nothing she expected it to be. Fitz is not happy with her choice but he’s still proud of her. He accepts it and gives Jemma what she really wants. He writes that it makes him feel stronger that she followed him and that he will do anything to come back to her, to hug and kiss his wife, feel her warmth.

Five letters, seventy wounded and sixty-nine dead soldiers later, Jemma loses all hope and she writes to her husband everything that she feels. She wants to talk to someone, but there are strangers everywhere, people she doesn’t know and soldiers that die every hour. She wants to scream and cry, unsure if they are going to win. It’s gotten worse she’s heard, the enemy is closer than ever. Her hands are covered in blood and she doesn’t even have enough time to wash her hands to get rid of it. Each time she tends to a soldier he tells her the horror what he had seen and what kind of monsters they are fighting.

It’s four weeks later when Jemma feels something shift within her. There is an uncomfortable feeling in her gut, a nauseous feeling. She can’t be pregnant, this is impossible. Her heart in her throat, Jemma feels as if a part of her has suddenly died. She can’t do anything but stare at her bloodied hands and sit in silence in the ward with wounded soldiers who are fast asleep and healing. She is a broken woman with no future, her husband out there and no one knows when they are coming back.

Later, she would recognise this feeling as a loss.

People used to tell her that she and Fitz are connected, the soulmates no one believed in yet the people were gossiping about it. There is something nice about it, when Jemma thinks about her husband being her soulmate, someone she could have met in her past lives. But no one had prepared her for the worst thing she would ever hear.

She receives the letter, but it’s not from her husband. She’s unable to read it thoroughly, tears streaming down her face and hands shaking. In retrospect, she knew it would happen. She prepared herself for this, but secretly hoped that it wouldn’t be her.

The letter says that Leopold James Fitz was a brave soldier who fought till the end and that he died as a hero, that Jemma Anne Fitz will be rewarded on his behalf. Jemma doesn’t need rewards. She needs her husband. Alive.

Everything starts to click after that.

The hole in her chest won’t heal, and Jemma is unable to do anything. She feels lost, carrying the dead part of her inside. She is unable to hide this part of her life in her little box of regrets and fears; the pain she feels every day is a reminder that she’s been to hell and never came back.

She feels the end of the war coming, except she won’t be able to live after this. She won’t be able to come back to the village and move on, a part of her is dead and buried six feet under. 

The end comes to Jemma three days later, when the Nazis bomb the hospital she works in.

She is not scared to die. She accepts death as if it’s her old friend. Jemma thinks of her husband, and how brave he must have been. She must be brave, too. She will meet Fitz soon, and they finally reunite in another world.

Jemma looks at her wedding ring and smiles for the last time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Moscow, 2023.**

There are voices and whispers and giggles behind Jemma's back, both annoying and distracting. It's been three hours since she started her new project and she hasn’t been able to focus on it properly, interrupted by lab attendants who seem to be totally oblivious that the Head of Chemistry Department is working with toxic chemicals. It would be a shame to drop "accidentally" spray formaldehyde on the lab attendants, but maybe it would be a valuable lesson.

Jemma wasn't sure why everyone was so anxious today. Yes, it was Friday, and maybe they were excited for the weekend, but Jemma couldn't share their excitement. Not when she had to work on Saturday and Sunday, too, if she wanted to complete her research as soon as possible.

Jemma grimaced and closed her eyes; the buzzing around her reminded her of a beehive. Perhaps, this was her lab now, and she had to either deal with it or join her colleagues in whatever they were celebrating. She felt slightly jealous of them because for the past two months she hadn’t really had time to explore the foreign city. Jemma was determined to finish her project as early as possible by staying late and missing lunch hours. Perhaps her hard work would kill her sooner than she expected and there wouldn’t be free time to visit the Red Square or taste the most delicious (her colleagues' words) ice cream in GUM.

Jemma wasted her life and she knew that. She wanted to be better, smarter, faster. Perhaps, burying herself in work was her attempt at escapism. What a wonderful way to forget about the toxic relationship she had, and the death of her granny she still mourned, even though it had already been three years.

There was a particularly loud noise and Jemma jumped, terrified that she had mixed the wrong chemicals. Except she noticed Barbara - or Bobbi - standing at her table and gesturing at the lunch box.

"You should eat," the woman smiled softly and Jemma grimaced. "Jem, seriously. I'm worried about you."

"I'm good." Jemma was never a good liar but she tried very hard to convince Bobbi in what she was saying. "Just tired."

"You should join me and Hunter tonight, then," Bobbi beamed and leaned against Jemma's desk. "We're going to the Exhibition of Achievements of the National Economy."

"It's a date," Jemma chuckled. "Wouldn't want to be the third wheel and spoil everything."

"It's not a date," Bobbi hissed in response but faltered under Jemma's gaze. "I mean... is it? We are just hanging out..."

"Four times a week, including the weekends," Jemma suggested and went back to writing down the report. "I'm happy for both of you, really. You deserve that."

"I don't know Jem," Barbara sighed, leaning forward to see what her friend was writing. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he really is my soulmate. He's everything Clint wasn't."

Ah, the soulmates talk.

Frankly speaking, this topic was forbidden for everyone who was around Jemma Simmons. She loved logic and soulmates were something out of a children's book. An unscientific term that suggested that there was only one person for you, and at some point, you met them and you just knew this was The One. Jemma never really believed in this, but perhaps she was still healing from her previous relationship that was never meant to last.

Without even realising it, Jemma subconsciously was looking for _The One_. It all started after her break up when she ran away from the place that suffocated her - quite literally - and found solace in a small cottage on the outskirts of Sheffield. This was the first time when she dreamed of a man, and she remembered her vision as if she had it last night.

She remembered them standing in front of each other, hands tangled in a tight knot as if they were afraid to lose one another; she remembered the band that burned her ring finger as if it was on fire. The man was taller than her, and he had incredibly blue eyes that she could have drowned in and his final words - a confession - before the darkness had taken him in and she was left alone, unable to breathe and choking on tears.

Jemma had woken up in sweat that night, thinking that she'd gone mad, that perhaps she worked too much and had to take at least one day off to wind down.

She spent months thinking about it, about the person she saw and the range of emotions she had experienced when she had opened her eyes; she had felt suddenly lonely. So when she was offered a business trip, Jemma agreed even without thinking. She hoped that perhaps the trip to another country would help her to calm down and feel safe, knowing that the person who had betrayed her on multiple occasions would be left behind. 

On rare occasions when she slept she did, in fact, feel better. There was a certain amount of safety when she saw him, even if it was only for a couple of hours before she woke up because there was always something that interrupted her dreams. Jemma started looking for him in everyone she met in the subway without even realising it; in the grocery store; among her colleagues and even among people on TV. She went to Russia hoping to find him there, and it didn’t seem like an unreasonable possibility because no one really knows what life could bring.

For someone who didn't believe in all this crap, Jemma became obsessed with the theory that maybe soulmates did exist, and she just hadn't found hers yet.

Still, she declined Bobbi's suggestion of going out but promised her that she would go home as soon as she finished her report. Bobbi promised to buy souvenirs that they would later divide between each other. 

More news that Bobbi shared was that there was a new head of the Engineering department, everyone was so excited to meet them. Jemma just had to roll her eyes, especially when Bobbi said that all the girls were already swooning over them, calling her colleagues 'unprofessional' and she was right. There was no time for distractions, though she'd love to stay in Moscow for a longer time. Explore the city and fall in love with the beauty of it once again.

By the time Jemma finished her report (and had three cups of coffee), the lab was empty and dark except her workplace. History repeated itself, and Jemma felt another wave of loneliness create a lump in her throat and make her unable to do anything except watch the lights of the city. She could easily make a home out of this lab because science was something Jemma couldn't imagine her life without. She hoped that she was saving thousands of lives - _millions_ \- working on antidotes and vaccines and she didn't plan on stopping. Jemma knew that perfection didn't exist, but she thrived on the idea that she could do better, that there were a lot of things she could improve and make  a life for others easier.

In all this chaos and late hours, she forgot about herself. She forgot that she had a heart and that if she worked too much, she could have troubles and issues she was so afraid of. Sure her friends took care of her when Jemma forgot to eat or passed out because she worked too much and her body decided to go against her. 

She needed someone. A person. A friend. A soulmate, maybe.

Someone who would deal with her temper and lifestyle; someone who would know when to stop her and take care of her.

Jemma's train of thought was interrupted by someone knocking on the door and she turned around, only to feel as if she lost the ground underneath her feet.

He came out of the darkness, wearing a strict black and white suit, his hair swept to the side and the blue eyes glimmering in the light of the lamp. 

And the first thing that Jemma said, or rather breathed out, was:

_ "You." _

It was like the puzzle finally was solved, the world turned upside down and the countdown began. Jemma couldn't move, completely shocked and stunned by the fact that the man she dreamed of was actually real. He was alive, and he stood a few meters away from her, clearly stunned himself. 

She wondered what was going on in his head, what he was thinking about. There were millions of questions she wanted to ask him, but Jemma categorized these as things that she'd ask him later. Instead, she followed her instincts and the next thing she knew, she was right in his arms, clutching for dear life, afraid as hell that all of it was just a dream, or maybe that she had breathed in toxic chemicals that had caused hallucinations.

Slowly, Jemma's rapidly beating heart slowed down and she was able to think straight. Except when they pulled away and Jemma looked up, she found herself drowning in the blue of his eyes.

The exact same colour she fell in love with in her dreams. Except now she was lucky to look at him in real life.

"I'm sorry I-"

"Did you..."

They both laughed, his hands holding her tightly as if he was afraid she'd slip away. Was he really that happy to see her?

"I can't believe this," Jemma found some words to whisper and shook her head. "All this time... and you... you're right here, and this can't be happening. Are we dreaming again?"

"If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up," his voice was raspy and she smiled when she recognised his accent. "Of all places... I found you here."

"A miracle," Jemma giggled, moving her hands to cup his face. She didn't want to rush things, even though a part of her didn't want to talk; she wanted to follow her instincts, right here and right now. "I have so many questions. And I... I don't have answers."

"I... I actually came here because somebody told me that I should introduce myself to the head of the Chemistry Department."

"A tall blonde woman?" Jemma guessed. The man's jaw went down and Jemma laughed. "That's Bobbi."

"Right, that was her," he sighed and let out a shaky breath. "Is it weird that I know your name? Bobbi didn't tell me anything, and I just... I know it. Never heard it in my dreams, but now... it's just... _Jemma_."

Jemma never realised that she would know his name as soon as she would see him. Because right now, there was one name that she had in her mind and it felt right. That name fit him.

"No, _Leo_ , it's not weird at all," she beamed. He grimaced slightly. "What?"

"It's... yeah. I'd rather you call me Fitz. I don't mind Leo, but... you can call me both, actually, I don't mind."

"Fitz?" Jemma looped her arms around his neck, feeling braver than she was just a few hours ago. But a few hours ago she was a miserable scientist who was in love with only her work. 

"Yeah?"

"We have a lot to talk about."

And they did. They really did.

"But?"

"But I think the lab is not the perfect place for this."

They left the building holding hands, clutching to each other for dear life, both scared that once they let go, they would lose one another. It all seemed like a dream and Jemma still couldn't believe that her world had turned upside down the first moment she saw him.

She could finally laugh blissfully, her fears disappearing whenever she looked at Fitz, and she still couldn't get used to the way he looked at her. He confessed that he saw her in his dreams, and there was one dream where she actually killed them because he was the bad guy and that's all he remembered. They only laughed about it and Jemma promised that she was not going to kill him. 

That night Moscow was particularly beautiful, and when Fitz led them home, Jemma followed him blindly, talking of the many things that were on her mind. She could never imagine someone actually listening to her carefully and asking questions, genuinely interested in what she was saying and then disagreeing with them - her former partners were spineless beings who couldn't even express their opinion - and that made him an interesting companion.

Jemma was grateful for Bobbi, who was, perhaps, the catalyst of their meeting, but they would have met anyway. She was grateful for all the sleepless nights and empty searches because, in the end, they were here.

They would find each other and never let go.

In any universe, in any version of reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. I apologise for this story being too short because you probably expected it to be longer than just 4 chapters, but I never had good relationships with multi-chapter fics, so this is what I and my muse came up with. Still, I hope you liked reading this story as much as I liked writing it. I've always had a soft spot for reincarnation/soulmates au, and I guess this is was born.
> 
> The choice of the city might have surprised you, but I absolutely adore Moscow and I miss it a lot, so here it is. If you plan on visiting it someday - I highly recommend you to visit the Exhibition of Achievements of the National Economy (or in short, VDNH). This is an amazing place where you can look at all the beautiful buildings, walk around the park and just breathe fresh air! 
> 
> Okay I am rambling now (because I can talk about Moscow endlessly and how much I love this city). Hope you guys are taking care of yourselves (we do not have any covid cases in our city luckily). Cheers!
> 
> And of course, a shoutout to my lovely beta - besidemethewholedamntime. She's also a writer! Go check her fics :)
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for reading and commenting this fic ♥


End file.
